Ave Ikea

I can’t be the only person who’s ever involuntarily burst into song with this spontaneous filk while ringing up at Ikea. My Google fu fails me when I check to see how many thousands of others have independently invented it — all the internet wants to give me is directions to every Ikea near an avenue. While I waited with my whimsically named purchases and balky children (or was that my whimsically named children and balky purchases?), I dreamed of Carolina Kostner skating her lovely Olympic short program through the warehouse, launching her triple Salchows over preassembled specimens of the Expedit shelving system.

The worst of the move it behind us now. We still haven’t unpacked enough of the kitchen boxes to find a single knife, but every hour gets us closer to having a real functioning household.

My books are all under my own roof again! Not that my shockingly numerous new shelves are assembled and ready for the Opening of the Boxes yet. Tomorrow we’ll have a family barn-raising and break out our collection of Ikea-issued Allen wrenches. If there’s enough champagne to go around, I may even get the rellies singing.